


King's Row Calling

by malevolentmango



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Punk, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, Flirty Jesse McCree, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, London, M/M, Omnic Racism, Omnic Rights, Sassy Hanzo, Strangers to Lovers, Undercut Hanzo, the punk rock au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9364847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango
Summary: On the run from his past, Jesse McCree now works as a bartender at a pub in King's Row. He's fine with his life the way it is: laying low, keeping out of trouble (mostly). Until he meets a guitarist with a few demons of his own when his band plays a show at the pub one night, and he falls headfirst into the world of punk rock, the struggle for omnic rights, and - against his better judgement - love.





	1. Entertain

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic off and on since Reflections came out, so I'm excited to finally be able to post the first chapter. Punk rock has such a fascinating history, and some of those ideals are (hopefully) going to feature prominently in this story.
> 
> A big thank you to my betas, [Tsoleil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorqui), [Foxy](http://theartisticfoxyhipster.tumblr.com/), and [Danu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/danu/)!
> 
> The title song for this chapter is Entertain by Sleater-Kinney, which you can listen to [here](https://youtu.be/MbxRu7fwR24).

_Hey! Look around they are lying to you_  
_Can't you see it's just a silly ruse?_  
_They are lying, and I am lying too_  
_All you want is entertainment_ _  
Rip me open it's free, oh yeah_

 

~~~

 

Jesse knew it would be an interesting day at work when he could hear the voice of Gabriel Reyes before he’d even opened the front door.

 

Not that a Saturday at The Fox and Bear was ever anything less than entertaining. It was their busiest night of the week, and now, in the heart of King’s Row at the beginning of summer, Jesse thought he might be one of the busiest bartenders in London. Although he was certain that Fawkes down the street at the Hoof & Haunch would disagree.

 

It was one of those rare nice days in London - no rain clouds in sight, just the right temperature to be heading down to Kennington Park near his flat to watch the sunset. But instead he was here, as always. Although he couldn’t really complain; Jesse loved his job, and anyway, it’s not like he had anyone to watch that sunset _with._

 

The yelling only increased in volume when he opened the door. Reyes was upstairs in his office, but the lack of other voices meant that at least whoever was on the other end of the phone wasn't suffering his wrath in person.

 

“--have a say in this, asshole _._ I'll put as many omnics on that stage as I damn well please--”

 

Jesse made his way behind the bar, dropping his hat on top of it as he flipped open the events calendar that Reyes kept next to the register. Part of the reason the pub was so popular on Saturday nights was their live music. In the two years - or was it three now? Too goddamn long either way, he thought - that Jesse had been tending bar for Reyes, he'd never known the man to book a bad band, and that was what kept the crowds coming back every week.

 

Tonight's band was scheduled for two 1-hour sets with a half-hour break between. Jesse snorted when he saw that they were called Hack the Planet. He thought they were trying a bit too hard to sound edgy, but he'd long since stopped questioning his boss’s music choices.

 

Unlike the poor bastard who was currently getting an earful from Reyes.

 

“--time for your particular brand of idiocy about the vote. Right now, I've got a business to run and money to make.”

 

The echoing silence that followed the end of Reyes’ conversation left Jesse scrambling to look busy before he came down the stairs; the man was a great boss, didn’t lose his cool even on the most stressful nights, but when he was truly angry, it was best to stay out of his way. He’d just started slicing up some lemons and limes when Reyes stomped his way downstairs. He took one look at Jesse and sighed.

 

“McCree, how many times do I have to tell you to keep that dusty old hat off my bar?”

 

Jesse grinned. “Reckon probably a few more times, boss _."_

 

Reyes just rolled his eyes and headed towards the back room.

 

“What's low?”

 

“Vodka and gin wells. And rum too, looks like. I'll check the kegs in a sec.”

 

He and Reyes kept stocking the bar for the evening, making sure everything was in order for the first rush. Their server, Lena, showed up just as Jesse was placing his hat back on his head, doing one last check before they opened.

 

“Hiya Jesse!” she said, zooming into the pub as quickly as she always did. Jesse was convinced she was secretly a track star. “Sorry I'm running so late! Had to take care of...a thing.”

 

Jesse winked at her. “And how is Miss Emily?”

 

“You're terrible, Jesse McCree!” Lena laughed as she slipped into the back to grab her apron.

 

“The absolute worst!” he said, chuckling.

 

The first couple of hours went by smoothly as the pub started filling up with patrons, fans of the band pouring in alongside their regulars. The ever-ebullient Reinhardt, a veritable giant of a man who had served as their unofficial bouncer on more than one occasion when other customers got rowdy, arrived not long before the band was set to start. He was arm-in-arm with Ana Amari, who gave Jesse a stern look over the bar as he began mixing their usual drinks.

 

“How are you doing, Jesse? Taking care of yourself, I hope?” she asked, as Reinhardt caught a laughing Lena up in a massive bear hug.

  
“Course I am, ma’am, you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me.”

 

She looked unconvinced, but Jesse just gave her his best smile and told them to enjoy the show, and soon enough she and Reinhardt were cozied up at a table near the stage, waiting for the band to make their appearance.

 

Jesse was busy with a rush of customers when Hack the Planet took the stage, but the opening chords of their first song certainly grabbed his attention. A rough female voice over heavy guitar riffs and frenetic drumming from the omnic someone had been giving Reyes a hard time about - all things that pointed to a punk rock band.

 

Not Jesse’s favorite style of music, but he supposed he should have guessed by the name.

 

In between filling orders, he took the opportunity to get a better look at the band. The frontwoman was punk rock personified: a spiky pink mohawk, clothes that seemed to mostly be held together with safety pins, and a pattern of skulls down her guitar strap. Their bassist was so petite he almost couldn't believe she could lift a bass guitar, but she handled it like a pro - it was a mess of pink and black, with a decal of a bunny that dominated most of the body. And their guitarist…

 

It was a good thing no one needed his immediate attention, because Jesse had absolutely none to give as he stared up at the stage.

 

The guitarist wore torn-up jeans and a simple, form-fitting black t-shirt, emphasis on the _form_. Those arms could crush Jesse’s head like a grapefruit and he would die happily. There was a swirling blue tattoo of some kind going up his left arm. His eyes were closed as he focused on his guitar, the stage lights glinting off his inky black hair, done up in a high bun with the rest shaved off on the sides.

 

Jesse thought he was absolutely gorgeous.

 

He found himself fascinated by the way the guitarist moved - not a mad force of nature like their singer was, commanding the audience’s attention with everything she did. But he had a presence of his own. Loose movements that corresponded to his guitar riffs, his body anticipating every key change before they happened. He was all purpose and intensity, his lips pursed as he strummed.

 

Jesse rarely paid much attention to the bands on live music nights. Normally he could lose himself in his work. He was at his best when his hands were busy, the words flowing easily as he chatted with patrons. Tonight seemed to be the exception.

 

During a pause between one song and the next, he watched a bit too eagerly as the guitarist took a long drink from a water bottle, the shifting of his muscular arms and the stray drops of water sliding down the column of his throat. Jesse licked his lips unconsciously just as the guitarist met his eyes across the heads of the crowd. He froze briefly, eyes calculating, before his lips pulled up into a slow grin around the mouth of the bottle, the white flash of his teeth playing at the rim of it.

 

Jesse swallowed thickly, fumbling with the cocktail mixer he was supposed to be cleaning. The guitarist just winked at him before quickly capping the bottle and launching into the next song.

 

He wondered how pissed off Reyes would be if he dunked his head in the ice bucket, just to stop the flush that was rapidly spreading across his face.

 

When Hack the Planet stepped off stage to thunderous applause a few songs later, Jesse was sufficiently distracted by the influx of people eager to spend the break racking up their tab. He’d just finished filling up another pint for Reinhardt when he noticed the guitarist again: this time, standing at the end of the bar, waiting patiently to catch his attention.

 

Of course, Jesse would be more than happy to give it to him after that performance.

 

He sauntered down to the end of the bar and leaned against it, giving the man an appraising look. He was even prettier up close, his deep, dark eyes a little wild, as if he was still riding high on the energy of the show. He had piercings in his ears and on the bridge of his nose that Jesse hadn’t been able to see when he was up on stage; Jesse wondered, a little thrill going down his spine, if he had any more that were hidden from his sight.

 

“What can I getcha, partner?”

 

The man gave him a confused look, like the accent was throwing him off (it wouldn’t be the first time Jesse had earned that reaction as soon as he opened his mouth), but ordered a vodka tonic. Jesse mixed one up quickly, adding a little unnecessary flourish to his pours. Sadly, the guitarist didn't seem impressed.

 

“There you go, sugar.” Jesse shook his head when he reached for his wallet. “On the house.”

 

The man raised an eyebrow at him. “I did not think drinks were included in our contract for the evening.” His voice was a deep, pleasant rasp, the kind that made Jesse want to ask if he'd sit at the bar and keep talking, just so he could hear it some more.

 

Jesse shrugged. “Probably not. But I figure I can spare a few bucks for a handsome fella like yourself.”

 

The guitarist narrowed his eyes at Jesse, but he didn’t think it was a trick of the light that his cheeks looked a little more red than before.

 

“Do you flirt with every guitar player who comes up to your bar?”

 

“Only the ones who catch my eye,” Jesse said, deftly pulling a pint for another customer before leaning back over the bar towards the guitarist. “And honey, _you_ are all kinds ‘a eye-catchin’.”

 

The man scoffed, but his mouth was quirked up at the corner, so Jesse counted that as a win. He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder - the vocalist with the spiky pink mohawk, who tilted her head toward the stage and said something Jesse couldn’t hear. It must be time for the band to get ready for their next set.

 

The guitarist nodded and turned back to Jesse as she headed towards the stage. He raised his drink in a toast to Jesse and finished it off, leaving the empty glass on the bar. “Perhaps after our set you can explain to me what a cowboy is doing working at a pub in London.”

 

“It’s a date,” Jesse said with a wink. The man rolled his eyes, grinning, before heading off towards the stage.

 

By the end of Hack the Planet’s second set, Jesse had figured out two things. One: Unlike other punk bands he’d listened to, this one actually, well...rocked. They had a great blend of that classic punk anarchy style and actual musical talent that Jesse could appreciate. And two: The more he watched the guitarist up on stage, the more he wanted to take him back to his place and show him what else this _cowboy_ was good at besides mixing drinks.

 

It had been a while since Jesse’d had a good old fashioned one-night stand. Maybe it was time he had a little fun.

 

True to his word, the guitarist came back up to the bar at the end of the set after helping to break down the band’s equipment. Jesse had just finished up with the rush of people who came to refill their drinks when he took up his same spot at the end of the bar as before.

 

Jesse smiled in greeting, already reaching for a glass. “Vodka tonic?”

 

The guitarist shook his head, sweat glistening on his brow. There was a challenge in his eyes when he said, “Surprise me, cowboy.”

 

“Well now, normally when a guy asks me for somethin’ like that, there’s a bed involved.” Jesse tilted his head, thinking, then added, “And a name.”

 

“My name is Hanzo,” he said, smirking. “You will have to work much harder than that for the bed, Mr...”

 

“McCree. Jesse McCree. And I’m a hard worker, Hanzo, make no mistake ‘bout that. I’ll be more’n happy to prove it to you.”

 

Hanzo simply raised an eyebrow at him. “I am sure you would be. Although, I wonder…”

 

“What’s that, darlin’?”

 

There was a wicked grin on Hanzo’s face that made Jesse think he might be in over his head just a bit. “If it is true what they say about Texas. That everything is...bigger.”

 

Jesse chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I can’t speak for Texas seein’ as I’m from New Mexico, but I can think of a few things from there that might be big enough for you.”

 

“You are very confident.”

 

Jesse passed the completed drink - whiskey lemonade, a little sweet and a whole lot of bite - over to Hanzo, who made an appreciative noise at the first sip.

 

“S’pose I am. But I figure there’re worse things to be confident about, right?”

 

Hanzo gave him a long look. “You are a strange man, Jesse McCree.”

 

“Good strange or bad strange?” he said, with a winning smile.

 

“I have not decided yet.”

 

“Well, you can take as much time as you need, sugar, I don’t mind.”

 

He could feel Hanzo’s eyes on him, appraising, as he went to take care of a few drinks for other customers. Whenever Jesse glanced over, Hanzo was following his movements over the rim of his glass, surveying him from head to toe. It was an odd feeling being so on display, although not an unwelcome one. He supposed Hanzo was probably used to it. Jesse couldn’t even imagine being on stage like that, feeling so exposed.

 

Someone with as many secrets as he had couldn’t afford that kind of attention.

 

Completing a large order for Lena took some time, and when he finally made it back over to Hanzo, the rest of the band had joined him at the bar. The spiky-haired singer had one arm slung around Hanzo’s shoulders and the other around the omnic drummer’s upper chassis. The look on her face was distinctly sly as she leaned around in front of Hanzo, who had a long-suffering look on his face. She was talking to the bassist, who was on Hanzo’s other side, nodding her head at whatever the singer said before Jesse appeared.

 

“Anything I can get for you lovely, talented ladies tonight?”

 

The bassist opened her mouth to reply and closed it again immediately, her eyes narrowing in confusion. The singer blinked once, slowly, before bursting into laughter. She turned to Hanzo, who looked distinctly flushed, and said, “Seriously?”

 

Hanzo shrugged her arm off his shoulders, muttering “Damn it, Sombra.”

 

Sombra just laughed again before turning to the drummer. “Can you believe this, Sheena?”

 

Sheena let out a metallic sigh so resigned that Jesse almost wanted to laugh, despite feeling like he was being judged harder than a finalist on _Britain’s Got Talent,_ a show Jesse had only just stumbled onto even though it was entering its 70th series.

 

“Nothing for us,” she said, the slow buzz of her circuits barely audible over the surrounding noise as she stepped back from the bar, dragging the still-chuckling singer with her. “We can’t stay.”

 

“Right. Sorry to drag Hanzo away from you,” Sombra said, looking the least sorry Jesse had ever seen someone. “But he’s our ride.”

 

Hanzo just sighed, meeting Jesse’s eyes briefly before looking away. Jesse couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He’d been looking forward to seeing if he could tempt the guitarist back to his place for the night. And if he was being honest with himself (a practice he didn’t often indulge in), he’d actually just enjoyed talking to Hanzo during the short amount of time he’d been standing at the bar.

 

But Jesse simply shrugged it off and offered him a good-natured smile. Better luck next time, he supposed.

 

“Well now, I’m awful sorry to hear that, but I hope y’all enjoyed your time here. I know I sure enjoyed watchin’ you from back here when I was s’posed to be mixin’ drinks.”

 

There was a strange look in Hanzo’s eyes, almost like regret, but it was gone so quickly Jesse couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it.

 

Hanzo straightened his shoulders, already moving away from the bar as he said, “It was nice meeting you, Jesse McCree.”

 

“Likewise, sugar.”

 

Jesse watched as Hanzo left the bar with Sombra and Sheena. He was about to turn back to check on his customers at the other end of the bar when he noticed that the bassist hadn’t moved to follow them. Instead, she was staring at him with her head titled to the side, as if he was a puzzle she was trying to solve.

 

Before Jesse could ask if she needed something, she said, “Got a pen, cowboy?”

 

Confused, he handed her one of the pens they gave out with the checks. She grabbed a napkin from one of the stacks that lined the bar and quickly wrote something down before handing both the napkin and the pen back to him.

 

It was a phone number, underneath which she had scrawled “Hanzo <3” next to a smaller version of the bunny decal he’d seen on her guitar. He raised an eyebrow at her.

 

“What--”

 

“It’s his phone number. You know what to do with it, right?”

 

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know what to do with a phone number, smartass. But seein’ as he wasn’t the one who gave it to me, I ain’t gonna do nothin’ with it at all. ‘Cept give it back to you.”

 

She was shaking her head before he’d even finished speaking, and refused to take the napkin back from him.

 

“Listen,” she said, leaning over the bar much the same way Hanzo had, “Hanzo’s not exactly shy, but sometimes he doesn’t know how to take a chance when it’s right in front of him. If he wasn’t interested, he would’ve just ignored you.” A teasing grin crossed her face. “And he certainly wouldn’t have skipped out on the meeting with your boss after the show just so he could talk to you some more.”

 

So that was why Hanzo had been able to talk to him alone - the rest of the band had been with Reyes, likely getting the check for their performance.

 

“And you don’t think he’ll find it a little weird that I just suddenly have his number?”

 

She shrugged, completely unrepentant. “Just tell him Hana did it. He might be pissed, but he’ll get over it.”

 

“That’s a big hit you’re takin’ for someone you just met,” Jesse said, although he was already folding up the napkin to put in his pocket for safekeeping.

 

“Yeah, well, don’t make me regret it, cowboy.” Hana motioned two fingers from her eyes to his in the universal sign for “I’m watching you.”

 

Before Jesse could say anything else, she was pushing away from the bar and heading for the door with a cheerful wave. He stared bemusedly after her before turning away with a shake of his head. Lena was at the other end of the bar, waiting to pass on some drink orders, and he soon lost himself in the familiar motions of his job.

 

He didn’t have time to think about the napkin in his pocket until much later, after he’d waved goodbye to Lena and Reyes outside The Fox and Bear and headed down the street to catch the next hoverbus. King’s Row was a nice area - too nice for him to waste his savings on, for sure. But he had an alright place in Vauxhall, a tiny studio flat with a glorious view of the Thames - if you counted squinting through the narrow gap between his building and the next as well as several other windows as “glorious.”

 

He could probably afford a nicer place, one where the bedroom and the living room weren’t the same thing, but he tried not to dip into the remnants of his old life if he could help it. Who knew when he’d have to take off again.

 

Jesse sighed, reaching up to pull his hat down further over his eyes. First he missed his chance to take the sexy guitarist home to his terribly small flat, and now he was being maudlin about the past. Maybe a nightcap and his bed were all he needed.

 

He shoved his hands in his pockets, fingering the edge of the bar napkin with Hanzo’s number on it. Jesse was tempted to shoot him a text, see if he was done dropping off his bandmates and if he’d be interested in stopping by his place instead of heading home. Maybe if he turned up the charm…

 

But it felt like the moment for a casual fling had passed as soon as Hanzo walked out of the pub. It would be better to just throw the napkin away, forget all about him. Jesse didn’t need any complications in his life - he had far too many of them in his past.

 

There was a trash bin next to the bus stop, but when he climbed aboard his night hoverbus, the napkin was still in his pocket.


	2. Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my betas, [Tsoleil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorqui), [Foxy](http://theartisticfoxyhipster.tumblr.com/), and [Danu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/danu/)! 
> 
> The title song for this chapter is Talk by Tacocat, which you can listen to [here](https://youtu.be/OMHvSNtWjnw).

_But I wanna talk_  
_Talk until the neighbors knock_  
_And I wanna move_  
_Move the furniture around the living room_  
_‘Cause I wanna dance, unwind the universe_ _  
‘Cause I wanna talk, talk until my throat hurts_

 

~~~

 

For as talented a singer and musician as Sombra was, Hanzo sometimes wondered how they ever finished a song with all her constant nitpicking.

 

It was the third time tonight they’d stopped playing as she and Hana argued about the bass line of their new song yet again. Hanzo just sighed, sticking his pick between his teeth so he could fix the strands of hair that had come loose from his bun while they were playing. Hana wanted something a little more elaborate than the song really called for, but the simple chords Sombra was suggesting didn’t really fit either.

 

They would eventually meet somewhere in the middle as they always did. Hanzo just hoped they’d manage it before they left for their tour in less than a week.

 

A loud bang drew his attention to Sheena, who’d dropped her drumsticks on her snare in exasperation and was now staring up at the ceiling in what Hanzo had come to recognize as the omnic equivalent of rolling her eyes. The noise didn’t seem to deter Sombra and Hana at all; they had quickly moved on to criticizing each other’s stage habits from their show at The Fox and Bear a couple nights ago.

 

Thoughts of that particular show inevitably brought up thoughts of Jesse McCree, the cowboy who’d inexplicably been manning a bar in the middle of King’s Row. He was certainly memorable - no mean feat in a city with as many vast cultural differences as London.

 

But Hanzo found himself remembering the man for reasons other than his ridiculous hat. Like the way he’d smiled at Hanzo over the bar, the unmistakable heat in his eyes as he’d watched Hanzo up on stage, the way he’d taken Sombra’s teasing in stride. The look of regret in his eyes when Sheena had said they were leaving.

 

Not for the first time in the past two days, Hanzo mentally kicked himself for not taking the chance on giving Jesse his number.

 

But he couldn’t quite convince himself to go back to the pub either. He couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Jesse was just that way with everyone, a natural, easy-going flirt who breezed through life, charming his way into jobs and beds alike.

 

Genji had been that way. Hanzo sometimes wondered if he still was.

 

He tried to push the thoughts of his brother from his mind, an old wound that still burned when reopened. It was probably better if he just forgot about Jesse McCree altogether. Hanzo picked up his phone, looking for a distraction.

 

There were several texts waiting for him from a number he didn’t recognize. A distraction indeed. However, upon opening them he discovered that this definitely wasn’t going to help with his plan to forget about the cowboy.

 

**UNKNOWN**

_09/05, 15:24_

uh hey, this is jesse from fox and bear

i know this is totally weird but your bassist gave me your number

you dont gotta reply if you dont wanna cause i know this is a long shot but uh

i’ve got tomorrow off and i was wonderin if you might wanna grab coffee or somethin?

 

“Hana.” His deadly calm voice cut through the girls’ continued arguing.

 

Startled, Hana met his eyes briefly before noticing the phone clutched in his hand. Her mouth formed a silent “Oh” before she slowly started to smile, much to Hanzo’s annoyance.

 

“Holy shit, did that bartender actually text you?” she said, crossing the floor of their little DIY studio, not bothering to unstrap her bass, as if she planned to take a look for herself. Hanzo quickly locked his phone. Hana gave him her worst pouty face.

 

“Wait, the one from the other day?” Sombra asked, laughter in her voice. “The real-life version of Hanzo’s cowboy fetish?”

 

“I do _not_ have a cowboy fetish,” he snapped. He pointedly ignored Sheena’s disbelieving snort from behind the drums and turned his attention back to Hana. “What possessed you to give a stranger my number?”

 

Hana just shrugged. “Well, someone had to do it and it wasn’t gonna be you.”

 

“That is a horrible invasion of privacy,” he said. Hana waved him off.

 

“Okay yeah whatever, what did he say?”

 

“Yeah, does he want to lasso you to his bed and have his wicked cowboy way with you?” Sombra looked entirely too pleased with herself, leaning against a stack of equipment boxes to Sheena’s left, her guitar resting forgotten in its stand.

 

Apparently there would be no returning to practice until he’d satisfied their curiosity. Hanzo silently lamented that his life had come to this. Even Sheena had turned her head in his direction curiously, twirling a drumstick idly between her thin metal fingers.

 

“He...asked me out for coffee.”

 

Hana had a huge smile on her face. “You _have_ to go--”

 

“Tomorrow.”

 

“So?”

 

Hanzo scoffed. “So tomorrow is the protest. Or have you forgotten? Big protest in Parliament Square about the omnic rights vote? Slightly important to a few of us here?”

 

He expected to hear noises of agreement from Sombra and Sheena at the reminder; when he got none, he turned to look at them incredulously. Sombra was shaking her head, waving her hand, palm-up, as if to dismiss the idea altogether.

 

“Sounds like a pretty good excuse to avoid a date, if you ask me,” she said, her smirk infuriating.

 

“I am not…”

 

“Come on, we all saw how you were looking at him. You want to take that cowboy for a _ride.”_

 

_“Hana!”_

 

Hana just laughed at him. Hanzo could feel his face turning red, but he cleared his throat and said, “Why would I skip something so essential for a man I met one time at a pub? It is important that I be at the protest with you three--”

 

“What are you implying, exactly?” Sombra said, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

Hanzo rolled his eyes. Sombra was just as passionate about not being perceived as weak as she was about their music. “Damn it, Sombra, you know what I mean.”

 

Sheena quickly shut down the argument that was no doubt incoming. “There’ll be other protests, Hanzo. But maybe no other cowboys, yeah?” She tapped her drumstick against the side of her head, making a little metallic clang. “He _was_ pretty fit...for a guy.”

 

Hanzo sighed, looking back down at his phone. It wasn’t that they were wrong - the omnic rights vote wasn’t far off, and the protests for (and against) it would only increase in the meantime. But it had been ages since he went on an actual date rather than just going through the motions of getting someone into his bed for the night.

 

If he hadn’t had to take these three home after the show on Saturday, he would have tried much harder to make Jesse one of those flings.

 

For the second time that day, thoughts of Genji gave him pause. What would his little brother say, Hanzo wondered, a vivid memory of Genji sneaking back into Shimada Castle for the third night in a row coming to him in a flash. What would he say if he could see Hanzo agonizing over something as insignificant as replying to a handsome man’s text message?

 

He smiled. The thought brought him sorrow, as thoughts of Genji always did, but not as much as it once would have.

 

Hanzo tapped out a short reply, ignoring Hana’s cheerful shout, and then insisted they carry on with their rehearsal. It seemed he had a date tomorrow.

 

~~~

 

Hanzo had never been particularly fond of the Tube. Something about being underground, crowded into a train car with too many other people, always left him feeling uncomfortable. And it reminded him a bit too much of his last day in Japan - huddled in a corner of a Tokyo Metro train with the only possessions he’d cared to take, surrounded by other travelers on their way to Narita Airport, all of whom had reasons for their journey other than “just get out.”

 

But it was quick, and since Hanzo had spent far more time than he’d planned to fretting over his outfit, it was the only viable option.

 

And if Sombra ever found out how long it had taken him to decide to ditch his leather jacket in favor of the black one with the buttons and patches, she would probably kick him out of the band.

 

Even as he climbed the stairs out of Vauxhall Station into the early afternoon sunlight of southwest London, he wondered if he should have gone a bit less...well, _punk_ for a first date. It wasn’t like he had much experience with such things.

 

Then again, Jesse had seemed to appreciate the look well enough while he was on stage. He was no stranger to being watched at this point, to the feeling of exposure that came with performing in front of a crowd. But there was a line between being watched and being _enjoyed,_ and he’d felt Jesse cross that line from all the way back behind the bar that night.

 

And when Hanzo climbed the final few steps out of the station to find Jesse McCree leaning against a pole, wearing a red plaid shirt, a stetson, and cowboy boots complete with _spurs_ , he realized he should never have been worried about his outfit at all.

 

Jesse looked ridiculous and totally out-of-place, even more than he had at The Fox and Bear. But Hanzo found himself smiling anyway, especially when Jesse looked up from his phone and spotted him, and his whole face lit up.

 

“Hey there, darlin’,” he said, shrugging away from the pole and coming over to meet him.

 

“Hello, Jesse.”

 

There was a moment where neither of them knew quite what to do, the rushing noise of cars the only break in the awkward silence, before Jesse chuckled. He reached for Hanzo’s hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to his knuckles.

 

It was horribly old-fashioned, but Hanzo couldn’t help but find it endearing.

 

“You’re lookin’ mighty fine today. Better’n I remembered.”

 

“Is this a date or a beauty contest?”

 

“Ain’t much of a contest, sugar. You’d win every time,” Jesse said with a wink. Hanzo just rolled his eyes. But when Jesse lowered his hand, Hanzo hooked their fingers together, not quite willing to let the contact end.

 

Going by the smile on Jesse’s face, it was the right decision.

 

“And anyway,” he continued, “we got ourselves a bit of a walk to the café, and I figured we should just get the awkward bit out of the way ahead of time.”

 

Hanzo raised an eyebrow and pointed to a building across the street with his other hand. “It does not seem like much of a walk.”

 

Jesse looked in the direction he was pointing and then back to him, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “You think I’m takin’ a fine upstandin’ gentleman like yourself to a _Starbucks?_ Not a chance!”

 

Hanzo laughed, completely unable to help himself. “What gave you the impression that I am a gentleman? Was it these?” He gestured to the numerous buttons that adorned his jacket. A few of his favorites were “Queer Punk and Hard As Fuck,” “Omnic Rights Now,” and a black one that just said “edgy” - complete with quotation marks - which Hana had bought for him. “Or possibly the guitar?”

 

“My mistake, darlin’,” Jesse said, looking him up and down in a way that made Hanzo blush. “Guess that makes you a scoundrel, in which case you’re in good company.”

 

“You certainly wouldn’t be the worst company I have kept.”

 

“Goddamn, you sure know how to flatter a fella, don’tcha?” But Jesse was laughing as he said it, and he gave Hanzo’s hand a gentle squeeze. “What say you ‘n me get goin’, huh? Can’t believe you thought I’d take you to _Starbucks…”_

 

They crossed the street and made their way through one of the dark tunnels under the railway that the Vauxhall area was known for - other than Voho, the largest gay community in London. Hanzo hadn’t spent much time south of the river, but from the way Jesse led them around, he assumed that he must have.

 

“You know this place very well,” he said, as they passed the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, which was advertising for an upcoming charity event called “Love and Gears” to benefit the Omnic Rights Association. He knew Sombra would have gone in a heartbeat, but it was scheduled for this Saturday, the day after they were set to leave on their tour.

 

Jesse chuckled. “That your subtle way of askin’ if I frequent the clubs ‘round here?” When Hanzo gave a noncommittal shrug, he said, “I live down there a ways, actually.” He pointed down the main thoroughfare leading away from Vauxhall Station. “Rent’s cheap. But I’ll admit to clubbin’ a time or two. Or ten.”

 

Hanzo grinned up at him. “Perhaps, if I am suitably impressed by your choice in coffee shops, I will let you take me to one sometime.”

 

“I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart.”

 

The rest of their journey wasn’t very long, perhaps five minutes at most, but he was surprised how quickly the usual bustle of London faded away. How it was possible to find these little pockets of calm in one of the largest cities in the world. And he was even more surprised that Jesse had chosen to take him all the way out here. They’d passed at least two other coffee shops on the way, not counting the Starbucks, but Jesse was adamant about this one.

 

When they got closer to it, Hanzo could see why. It was almost ridiculously quaint. The endless rows of old brick houses gave way to a riot of green - one of London’s hidden squares, filled with tall trees and bordered on either side by ivy-covered buildings. There was a row of metal tables and benches lining the footpath next to the shop, in the patches of light that flooded through the trees. The place itself was small and cramped, shelves filled with all kinds of imported teas and coffees lining the walls, and a sign in the window that read “Omnics Welcome!” in blocky red letters.

 

It was more romantic than he’d expected, and obviously a place Jesse frequented. Hanzo couldn’t help but feel touched that Jesse had put so much thought into this.

 

He explored the shop while Jesse perused the menu. Hanzo had fully intended to go with the spirit of their date and have coffee, although it was not his usual choice. But there was a tiny corner of one shelf devoted to Japanese teas, and even a halfway-decent _sencha_ in London was so hard to find…

 

“Oh, go on then,” Jesse said, and Hanzo turned to find the man peering over his shoulder, cramped in their corner of the tiny shop. He was so _tall_ , and standing this close Hanzo caught the barest scent of him - smoke and musk, enticing in a way that had him turning back to the tea shelf and picking a tin at random, just to have something else to focus on.

 

Hanzo cleared his throat. “It is not much of a coffee date if there is no coffee.”

 

“Don’t matter what we’re drinkin’. Jus’ wanted to see you again.”

 

When Hanzo smiled at him in response, Jesse turned bright red and grabbed the tea out of his hands, taking it up to the counter. Hanzo followed him, too charmed for his own good, and slid his card over to the cashier before Jesse could stop him.

 

“It is my turn to treat you,” he said, ignoring Jesse’s disgruntled noise.

 

The woman behind the counter was more than happy to brew up some of the tea for them in lieu of anything on the menu, smirking a little too knowingly at the blush on Jesse’s cheeks. Hanzo slipped the tin with the rest into one of his jacket pockets as they took their drinks outside to one of the metal tables.

 

When they were seated across from each other, Jesse glanced around at the other patrons and then back at Hanzo, a bemused look on his face.

 

“Sure make quite the pair, don’t we?” he said.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Jesse gestured between his hat and Hanzo’s jacket, grinning. “The punk and the cowboy. Sounds like the title of a bad movie.”

 

Hanzo hummed, blowing on his tea before taking a cautious sip, warmth spreading through him that had little to do with the temperature of the drink. It was not the best he’d ever tasted, by far, but it was close enough.

 

“Or a great one.”

 

Not for the first time since meeting Jesse, he found himself entranced by the man’s laughter - riotous and free, as if his humor was always close to the surface, ready to burst forth at the first sign of a good time.

 

“Well, I s’pose if you’re providin’ the soundtrack, it’d have to be.”

 

“I would not have assumed our music to be the type you would enjoy.”

 

Jesse shrugged and took a sip of his tea, making a surprised sound at the taste of it before going in for another.

 

“It ain’t usually. But I can appreciate talent when I hear it.”

 

When Jesse winked at him, Hanzo knew he’d been too slow to hide his pleased smile behind his cup.

 

“Are you familiar with guitars then?”

 

Jesse didn’t answer immediately. Hanzo watched him run an idle thumb across the rim of his tea cup, biting his lip. For a man who so far seemed to have an answer for everything, Hanzo was confused at this being the question that stumped him.

 

Finally, he said, “I am. Acoustic - ain’t never touched the kinda setup you got, just some old wood and strings. But it’s been years since I last played.”

 

Hanzo hesitated, not sure if he should ask why. Jesse must have caught the look on his face, because he sighed and added, “Too many bad memories come with it.”

 

“I am no stranger to bad memories,” Hanzo said, taking a long drink of tea that was both too much a reminder of home and not enough.

 

Their eyes met across the table, and there was no trace of the uncertainty Hanzo’s question had raised. Just Jesse and his damnable smile, and the way it drew Hanzo in every time he saw it.

 

“Like I said, sugar: quite the pair.”

 

They sat there for more than an hour, just talking. Hanzo told him about his music and about the band, about how the rest of them were at the protest right now and how they would be leaving on their UK tour in just a few days.

 

“A damn shame,” Jesse said. “And here I was thinkin’ I might be able to convince you to meet me at the pub this weekend, let me make you another ‘a my specialities.”

 

“Perhaps in two weeks. If you have not forgotten all about me by then.”

 

“As my friend Lena would say, ‘Not bloody likely.’”

 

His attempt at a British accent was so terrible that it took Hanzo several moments to recover from laughing too hard.

 

He told Jesse a few stories about Hanamura - the easy ones. The ones that didn’t leave him feeling like a weight was pressing down on his chest. Watching the _sakura_ bloom in the garden. The way the old-fashioned _machiya_ buildings mixed in with the towering skyscrapers to form a sort of patchwork city, one that he could navigate blindfolded, but had never known quite as well as his brother does - did.

 

Jesse didn’t comment on his correction. Instead, he told Hanzo a grand story about the town he’d clambered out of as soon as he could, how “there mighta been a city there, but I ain’t never saw it,” living in the shadow of the mountains that crowded in on the edges of his desert home.

 

Hanzo wasn’t entirely sure how much of his story was true. Something about the way he told it made Hanzo think it was a bit like the desert itself - a few grains of truth in an endless sea of bluster. But it was engaging nonetheless, and anyway, Jesse wasn’t the only one at the table with something to hide.

 

They talked until their tea was long gone and their metal chairs became too uncomfortable to bear any longer, and when Jesse offered his hand to Hanzo when they stood to leave, he took it without hesitation. Jesse led them back in the direction of Vauxhall Station, but without the same urgency as before. Hanzo got the feeling he was in no rush for their date to end.

 

He couldn’t help but feel the same.

 

“You know, I just remembered,” Hanzo said, bringing them to a stop in the mouth of a narrow alley between two buildings, at the end of which was the busy street that led to the station. Jesse looked at him curiously. “I was in such a rush earlier that I completely forgot to eat lunch.”

 

A slow smile spread across Jesse’s face, and he tugged Hanzo into the alley by their joined hands. “I know just the place, darlin’. Don’t want you goin’ _hungry_ now.”

 

He watched as Jesse’s eyes flickered down to his lips, so fast Hanzo almost didn’t catch it, before he found himself caught in Jesse’s gaze again, like being trapped under a spotlight he had no desire to escape. He leaned forward just slightly, and his grip on Jesse’s hand tightened.

 

“I would appreciate that greatly.”

 

Jesse cleared his throat, and when he spoke again his voice was soft and low, a veritable rumble. “Hanzo, would you--”

 

Hanzo didn’t wait to hear the rest of his question. Instead, he stepped forward into Jesse’s space, crowding him against the brick wall of the alley as he caught his lips in a fervent kiss.

 

Kissing Jesse, he discovered, was electric. Like being on stage in front of a roaring crowd, the break in the song right before he struck the final chords. There was no hesitation - Jesse met him with equal fervor, hauling him in with an arm around his waist. And Hanzo would be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about this since he picked out his tea, the way it would feel to be pressed up against every burly inch of him.

 

It ended slowly, with Jesse chasing his lips when he pulled away. He was quite a sight: his hat knocked askew, revealing the flattened bits of his hair underneath, his eyes unfocused, his shirt mussed from where Hanzo had gripped it.

 

Hanzo was sorely tempted to see just how much of a mess he could make him.

 

“I wanted to do that across the bar the other night,” Hanzo said, a quiet confession, whispered into the scant inches of space between their lips. Jesse still hadn’t moved his arm from around his waist.

 

“Well hell, darlin’, I wouldn’ta stopped you. Though the boss prob’ly woulda been pissed.” Jesse brought his other hand up and ran his thumb gently across Hanzo’s cheekbone. “Do you think you--”

 

For the second time in a few minutes, Jesse didn’t get to complete his sentence. The ringing of Hanzo’s phone startled them both - the piercing, upbeat vocals of some K-Pop song Hana had jokingly set to play whenever she called him, which unfortunately Hanzo kept forgetting to change.

 

Mostly because Hana never called him unless it was important.

 

Hanzo stepped away from Jesse, muttering an apology, and pulled out his phone, took a breath to gather himself, then answered it.

 

“Hana? What is it?”

 

Hana’s voice was frantic in his ear, and she spoke so fast that it took him a moment to realize what she was saying. There was a kind of dull roar in the background that threatened to drown out her words entirely. But a few, like “riot” and “hurt,” came through all too clearly.

 

He could feel Jesse’s eyes on him, concerned. Hanzo knew his teeth were clenching, and that his other hand was curling into a fist, but all he could say when Hana finally paused for breath was, “I am on my way. Text me your exact location. And...do what you can for her.”

 

“What’s up?” Jesse asked as soon as he hung up.

 

Hanzo closed his eyes briefly. It didn’t help. When he finally found his voice again, it was significantly less confident than the one he’d used to reassure Hana.

 

“The protest they were at...it was supposed to be peaceful, but now Sheena is hurt and...” Hanzo shook his head and turned to walk the rest of the way down the alley, towards Vauxhall Station. He was wasting too much time. Jesse would just have to forgive him later. “I apologize, I have to go.”

 

Hanzo barely made it two steps before Jesse was following him, matching his quick strides. “I’ll come with you.”

 

“That would be very foolish of you.”

 

“Well, what can I say…” When Hanzo glanced up at him, Jesse had a grim sort of smile on his face. “I’ve always been a goddamn fool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to freak out about McHanzo with me, you can find me on tumblr [here](http://malevolentmango.tumblr.com).


	3. Bicker/Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my betas [Tsoleil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorqui) and [Foxy](http://theartisticfoxyhipster.tumblr.com/) for always being so supportive and wonderful. I don't know how y'all put up with me.
> 
> Also, I apologize for how long this chapter has taken. I have no excuse, other than that my friends are all terrible influences. However, the delay did give me the opportunity to incorporate some of the new lore surrounding Orisa's release, which I think is pretty cool. I've also added a tag for violence, because the beginning of this chapter gets a little intense.
> 
> The title song for this chapter is Bicker/Breathe by RVIVR, which you can listen to [here](https://youtu.be/DyMO8PAJS0M).

_We can bicker like we breathe_  
_Count inconsistencies like heartbeats_  
_While the system rolls on and rolls right_ _  
Over your true identity_

 

~~~

 

King’s Row was a chaotic mess of blood, oil, and bodies - most upright, some face-down - and if Jesse were anyone else, the scene would have been a terrible shock.

 

But it wasn’t. It was like someone had plucked his worst memories out of his head and splayed them out across the streets of London, so familiar that it sent shivers down his spine. All that was missing was the sand.

 

There were not-so-distant sirens echoing off nearby streets, heading towards the worst of the fighting. He let Hanzo lead him by the hand into the crowd, heading for the intersection Hana mentioned. Hanzo was rigid and fearless, a startling force as he moved through the mass of people, paying little mind to the suffering around him.

 

Jesse might have thought he was completely unaffected, if not for the death grip Hanzo had on his hand.

 

They fought against the current of people trying to escape from the scene, stomping through debris - pamphlets and signs, messages like “Omnic Equality Now” and “Metal Bodies, Human Souls” trampled over with red-and-black footprints. Through a break in the crowd, they finally caught sight of Hana and the others.

 

Hanzo’s sharp intake of breath damn near broke his heart.

 

Hana stood at the very edge of the pavement, directly under the street signs she'd used to mark their location. There was a thin cut across her cheek and another, larger one down her arm, but she paid no mind to either of them. Her face was a mask of grim determination, her eyes searching the crowded street for any sign of Hanzo.

 

Jesse remembered, out of nowhere, the way Hana had looked on stage the other night, when he’d torn his eyes away from Hanzo long enough to notice her. The smallest bass player he’d ever seen, and she’d never once shown any sign of struggling with her instrument - wielded it like a weapon that she had total control of. She looked much the same way now, as if her slim form would be more than enough to shield Sombra and Sheena from the entire world, if she needed it to be.

 

“Hana!” Hanzo’s voice cut through the chaos as they pushed their way through the last of the crowd to meet them. Hanzo let go of Jesse’s hand to take hold of her uninjured arm, and there was a momentary flash of relief on her face before she turned serious again. “What happened?”

 

“Those fucking Humanity Now assholes,” Hana said, and there was so much venom in her voice that even Hanzo looked surprised. “Showed up out of nowhere. Sheena...her chestpiece…”

 

Behind her, Sombra kneeled on the ground with Sheena’s head in her lap. There was no telling how much of the oil scattered across the ground belonged to Sheena, but there was a worrying amount of it seeping into Sombra’s clothes. Sheena’s facial sensors were dark, but the look on Sombra’s face was darker, so much so that Jesse had to avert his eyes.

 

“They weren’t even going after her. They were going for us. The human supporters. Sheena just…” Hana glanced over her shoulder at the pair on the ground, and her voice turned quiet. “She snapped when one of them grabbed Sombra.”

 

Hanzo knelt beside them and reached out a shaking hand to touch Sheena’s arm. Jesse couldn’t read the look on his face. Something distraught, but distant, as if he was distracted from the reality of the situation by something no one else could see.

 

Jesse knew the feeling.

 

The echo of the sirens grew louder. Hanzo looked around at the still-packed streets, at the humans and omnics alike all rushing away from the scene.

 

“We have to get out of here,” he said.

 

He picked Sheena up, stumbling only slightly under the weight of her metal torso, leaving Sombra momentarily alone on the ground, slow to react. Jesse had seen that look before - on people who weren’t used to feeling so helpless.

 

“And go where? We can’t exactly catch a bus back to your place right now.” Hana said, reaching down to give Sombra a hand up. “The omnic underground is probably chaos right now…”

 

Sombra didn’t seem to hear them at all. “We were supposed to visit her family in Numbani after the tour,” she muttered, anger twisting around her words like a coiled snake, waiting for its opportunity to strike.

 

“We can go to the pub.”

 

All three of them turned to stare at Jesse in unison, even Sombra, an array of confused looks on their faces.

 

“Look, I can help her. I know a thing or two ‘bout fixin’ up omnics,” he said. An hour or so ago, Jesse would have found the incredulous look on Hanzo’s face adorable, but as usual, his life was in a constant state of bad timing. “The pub ain’t far from here and it’s closed today, and I’ve had a key to the place for ages. We got all kindsa medical supplies there ‘cause Lena’s always bustin’ up somethin’...”

 

Sombra looked like she wanted to protest, but Hanzo was already moving further down the street, breaking the flow of the crowd once again as they headed in the direction of The Fox and Bear.

 

“It will have to do.”

 

Hanzo didn’t speak again for the rest of the walk, only gave a few sharp nods of his head when Jesse suggested a route that might be faster.

 

The sound of the sirens faded the further away they got, but the smell of blood and oil stuck with them, a constant reminder of their dwindling time. The area around The Fox and Bear was less of a disaster than what they’d left behind, but it was clear no part of King’s Row was untouched by the protests.

 

Jesse unlocked the door and let them all inside, shoving a table out of the way so that Hanzo could lay Sheena down on one of the benches that lined the outer wall. It was always startling to see an omnic in their powered-down state, but even moreso when it was involuntary. Jesse didn’t waste much time looking - he headed into the back room behind the bar to retrieve their first aid kit. He grabbed a bottle of water and a few clean rags on his way back out to the bar, taking a deep breath as he went.

 

When he got back, Sombra had taken a seat next to Sheena’s head. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the oil splatters on her chest. Hana sat on Sombra’s other side, and as Jesse walked up she rested a comforting hand on Sombra’s arm. Hanzo remained standing, and turned to look at him, his forehead creased in a way that made him look years older than he was.

 

“What can I do?” he said as Jesse knelt down in front of the bench, ditching his hat on the table that he’d moved out of the way.

 

Jesse didn’t hesitate. He handed Hanzo one of the rags and the bottle of water. “Help me clean her up.”

 

While Hanzo worked, Jesse flipped open the first aid kit, shoving aside all the bandages and creams meant for human use to get to the materials for omnics at the bottom. Oil canisters, wrenches and screwdrivers, spare hoses and connectors, a small soldering tool. He prepped the tools and set the canisters in easy reach. He had a feeling they weren’t going to be her preferred brand, but she would just have to deal with that later when she was up and running again.

 

He helped Hanzo clear away the rest of the oil covering Sheena’s chestplate. It was heavily damaged, but Jesse had seen worse. She’d likely shut down from a combination of oil loss and electrical shock.

 

Jesse set to work, trying to ignore the way Hanzo watched his every move, and the way Sombra pointedly didn’t. He tinkered in silence for several moments. He wished he could be surprised at how quickly everything came back to him, the way his hands moved almost before he could think to tell them to.

 

Eventually, the quiet seemed to become too much for Hanzo.

 

“Where did you learn this?” His voice was tight, concerned. He looked back and forth between Jesse’s hands and his face, impatient for an answer but unwilling to take his eyes off what he was doing. “Are you...were you a soldier? A field medic?”

 

Jesse didn’t answer him immediately. It was a reasonable question - most civilians didn’t have a working knowledge of how to patch up injured omnics. But damn it, he’d had one good afternoon of not dwelling on his past. One day where talking to Hanzo about the place he’d grown up hadn’t made him feel like dirt.

 

He just wished it didn’t have to end so soon.

 

Jesse glanced up at Hanzo with a wry smile before refocusing his attention on Sheena. “Yeah, I did my time.”

 

For all the panic on the way to finding the band and the chaos of shuffling through the crowd of protesters to get to the bar, fixing up Sheena took very little time in comparison. The collective sigh of relief that went up when her facial sensors flickered back to life had Jesse sitting back on his heels, just taking a moment to breathe.

 

Sheena looked around at them all, her circuits churring slowly to life, clearly disoriented. Jesse glanced at Hanzo, who was clenching the edge of the bench next to Sheena’s head. He turned away.

 

“Ain’t outta the woods yet. She’ll need to see a real doctor soon. But at least she’ll make it there,” he said, wiping his hands on a spare rag as he stood up. “I’m sure y’all could use somethin’ to drink, huh? Just sit tight a sec while I wash up.”

 

Jesse headed into the back room as quickly as he could, as Hana recounted the tale of how they’d arrived there to Sheena. He sat on a stack of old pallets against the back wall that they hadn’t gotten around to throwing out yet, head in his hands. He heaved in a few breaths, but it was like there wasn’t enough air in the room.

 

That or his lungs had stopped working. Jesse didn’t really blame them.

 

“Jesse?”

 

He jumped so hard the pallets shook beneath him, and looked up to find Hanzo standing in front of him, his hands held out in a placating gesture. Jesse hadn’t even heard him come in.

 

“I did not mean to startle you.”

 

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it. Guess I’m jus’ a little shook up. Can only imagine how you’re doin’.”

 

“‘Shook’ is a good description,” Hanzo said dryly, taking a seat next to Jesse. There wasn’t a lot of room, and Jesse had to fight to keep from leaning into the comforting line of warmth pressed all up and down his side. “As well as exceedingly grateful to have met you.”

 

Jesse stared at him, wide-eyed and trying to fight down the blush that was steadily creeping across his face. He forced out a laugh, ran a hand through his hair. He wished he hadn’t left his hat out there on the table.

 

“Ain’t no big deal. Hell, you’d’ve already been there if I hadn’t dragged you out to Vauxhall with me.”

 

“Perhaps.” Hanzo’s steady gaze hadn’t left Jesse’s face, like he was attempting some newfound mind-reading power. “But it would have meant missing out on a highly enjoyable afternoon. And I would not have had someone on hand who seems to know quite a lot about fixing omnics.”

 

There was a question in Hanzo’s statement that Jesse didn’t want to answer. He laughed weakly instead.

 

“Well, turned out to be easier than I expected. Ain’t never met an OR15 like Sheena before, but they’re pretty similar to the old OR14s, and I certainly came across enough of them in my time--”

 

“You were no soldier.”

 

Jesse shut his mouth immediately. The shelving unit in the center of the room was suddenly the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

 

Hanzo huffed. “I am under no delusion that one date and a kiss in an alley entitles me to an explanation. But you saved Sheena’s life - the last thing I would do is judge you for whatever experience made that possible.”

 

Jesse would have expected to feel terrified at the idea that Hanzo had seen through him so easily, that everything he'd tried to bury in the past was coming back up to the surface. That the things he'd been running from had finally caught up to him. But he didn't. Sure, the panic was there, but he only felt it distantly, like taking a punch from someone who wasn't really trying - a connection with no force behind it.

 

“Nah...figure you deserve somethin’ better than bein’ brushed off with a lie.”

 

Jesse took a deep breath. It was so much easier to breathe in Hanzo's presence.

 

“We had a buncha omnics in the gang I used to run with,” he said, watching out of the corner of his eye for Hanzo's reaction.

 

Hanzo didn't speak, just waited patiently, all of his focus on what Jesse had to say. It was one of the things he’d appreciated so much on their date earlier, the way Hanzo had made him feel like he was the only person in the world he cared to listen to.

 

“They’d gotten tired of serving humans and decided to start serving themselves instead. Old models from all over the place, the ones no one cared about anymore. And the leaders weren't exactly picky when it came to takin’ on new blood. Or oil, I s’pose.”

 

Hanzo’s lips twitched up in a reluctant grin at his stupid joke. Jesse found himself lamenting the fact that he probably wouldn’t get to see Hanzo’s smile again after tonight.

 

“I did a lot of shit I ain't proud of. Awful things. Hurt more people than I ever fixed up. ‘Cause they sure as hell didn't take me on for bein’ no doctor - patchin’ up wounds just came with the territory.”

 

“Why did they take you on?” Hanzo asked quietly.

 

Jesse held his fingers up in the shape of a gun, making a show of blowing smoke off the “barrel” of his index finger.

 

“Best damn shot on both sides of the Rio Grande, partner.”

 

He used to say it with pride. Now it was just another stupid joke.

 

“That and they knew I had no place else to go. Kid like me? It was either join up or beg for scraps in the streets.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Mighta been better off doin’ the latter in the long run, but...at least it felt like havin’ a family, for a while.”

 

Hanzo didn’t say anything, but he did press his shoulder into Jesse’s, a silent encouragement. It made Jesse think of the way Hanzo had held his hand earlier, with a surety that had left his heart pounding.

 

“They were the ones who taught me to play guitar, you know? We’d finish up a heist, gather ‘round this huge bonfire in the middle of the desert, and I’d strum that ol’ thing ‘til my fingers bled. Everyone laughin’ and drinkin’. Like ruinin’ someone’s life - or takin’ it - was worth celebratin’.”

 

Jesse glanced over at Hanzo, expecting him to be upset or disgusted, but he was still just watching him as intently as before, his expression blank. Like he was a judge waiting to hear all the arguments before making his final decision.

 

“Anyway, helpin’ your friend’s the least I can do after that, but I’m guessin’ you don’t really need my kinda baggage in your life.”

 

Hanzo made a noncommittal hum. He looked down at his hands, and Jesse saw that there were still traces of oil from when he’d carried Sheena through King’s Row.

 

“This gang you were in,” Hanzo said finally, his tone even. “Were they called Deadlock?”

 

Jesse felt like he was liable to jump out of his skin for the second time that night, hearing that name coming out of Hanzo’s mouth.

 

“How the hell did you--”

 

“In my family’s line of work, it was important to know about the competition - even if we never officially met - and my father was very thorough in making sure that Ge...that my brother and I were informed. And Deadlock certainly made the news, in that part of the world.”

 

Jesse found himself with nothing to say. All he could do was stare at Hanzo’s profile in the dim, flickering light of the single bulb in the back room, the way it glinted off his earrings and the pins on his jacket. He could just make out the fine, downy hair on the side of his head from this close. Absurdly, he found himself wishing he could touch it.

 

He was caught in the act of staring when Hanzo turned to meet his eyes.

 

“So you see, your ghosts are not so different from my own,” Hanzo said. And then he smiled, wide and genuine, and Jesse knew in that moment that he’d made a huge mistake. “Besides...I believe you are still supposed to take me out for lunch.”

 

Jesse stuttered out a laugh and said, “Yeah...I s’pose I am.”

 

Hanzo bit his lip, uncertain, as if there were words on the tip of his tongue that he wasn’t sure he should let out. In the end, he didn’t say anything. But he did close the short distance between them to give Jesse a soft, lingering kiss. It lacked all the frenetic energy of their first one, only a few hours ago now despite it feeling like years, but made up for it in sweetness.

 

Jesse could get used to kisses like these. And that, more than anything, left his gut churning with uncertainty.

 

They didn’t discuss it afterwards. Not that Jesse would have much to say besides “Uh, wow.” But the way Hanzo smiled at him over the armful of water bottles and snacks they carried back out to the other three felt like a reassurance that Jesse wasn’t sure he deserved.

 

Sheena was now sitting upright on the bench with Sombra and Hana on either side of her, and appeared to have moved on from “confused and disoriented” to “really fucking pissed off.” Hanzo handed out the water and snacks and Jesse offered Sheena another spare oil canister he’d grabbed from the back room, which didn’t seem to slow her down at all.

 

“And I can’t believe - thanks, cowboy - I cannot believe I survived _Doomfist_ just to almost get taken out by a bunch of shitty humans!” Here she glanced at Jesse, the lids of her facial sensors narrowing slightly, and added, “Present life-saving company excluded.”

 

Jesse held up his hands and shot Sheena a grin. “Hey, you ain’t gonna hear no arguments from me. Those were some damn shitty humans.”

 

Jesse gulped down his water, thirstier than he’d realized, and went over to a window to check the situation outside. The street was mostly empty, a few stragglers wandering - limping - away from the site of the protest. It was odd, seeing the place so lifeless; the area was usually as busy on Tuesdays as any other night, when Jesse had stopped by to do inventory when Reyes couldn’t.

 

London wasn’t the type of city that suited quiet, lonely streets. Jesse’d seen enough of those in his life, and seeing it here left him feeling uneasy. But he supposed it was better than outright rioting.

 

There was a quiet shuffling of footsteps to his left, and he looked over to find that Hana had joined him at the window. She frowned at the empty street outside before fixing him with a serious gaze. Someone had patched up her wounds while Jesse and Hanzo were in the back room. Given the available options, Jesse assumed she’d actually done it herself.

 

“I know Sheena’s said it, and probably Hanzo too,” she began, and he was once again struck by how different this Hana was from the one he’d first met on the night of Hack the Planet’s show. “But I wanted to thank you. For getting us out of there and for helping Sheena when you didn’t have to.”

 

Jesse stared out the window, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Ain’t nothin’ no one else wouldnt’a done, if they could.”

 

He could feel Hana’s eyes boring into his skull. It was significantly more uncomfortable than being on the receiving end of one of Hanzo’s stares. Though he couldn’t decide if that said more about him than it did about Hanzo.

 

Finally, Hana said, “No. Not many others would. Not for people like us.”

 

Jesse didn’t know quite what to say to that. His gaze was drawn to where Sombra and Sheena were still seated on the bench, the detritus of their hasty rescue still scattered around the floor in front of them. As he watched, Sombra slid an arm around Sheena’s upper chassis, much the same way she had when the band had gathered around to have a go at the cowboy bartender who’d somehow caught Hanzo’s eye. It was more intimate this time, somehow; all of the same people were there, but it felt like Jesse was seeing something he was never meant to.

 

Hana followed his gaze and sighed. “She probably won’t say it, but Sombra’s grateful too.”

 

After they’d had a chance to rest and rehydrate, Hanzo insisted on making sure the girls got home safe. Jesse assured them he could handle the mess and saw them to the door, where Hanzo left him with a lingering look and a promise that he’d text him later.

 

Jesse didn’t waste any time. He grabbed the cleaning supplies out of the back room, determinedly ignoring the stack of pallets, and set to work making the place look presentable again. But no amount of scrubbing could truly distract him.

 

He thought of the way Hanzo had looked sitting across the table from him on their date, of the fierce way he’d kissed him in the alley and the gentle way he’d done it in the back room, of the look in his eyes when he discovered his friends were in trouble. And it was like a vice tightening around his heart, the very thought of _Hanzo,_ and Jesse knew without a doubt that he’d gotten in too deep already.

 

He’d never meant for this. Flirting his way into a one-night stand? That would’ve been ideal. A casual date that led to the casual suggestion of continuing it back at Jesse’s place? Also ideal. But this was something else entirely, something Jesse hadn’t planned for at all. This was getting _involved._

 

Being involved was dangerous. Being involved meant getting attached. And getting attached? Well, that was how he’d fallen so deep into Deadlock that he very nearly couldn’t drag himself back out.

 

But damn if he didn’t want to see Hanzo again, just to bask in his voice and his smile and his kisses.

 

“Just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” Jesse muttered as he headed outside to clear away the mess of flyers and debris that had been left in front of the pub.

 

He lost track of time as he finished tidying up. When he came back from taking out the trash and putting the cleaning supplies away, he got his third unexpected shock of the night when he found Reyes standing just inside the front door of the pub, keys dangling uselessly from his hand.

 

“You wanna explain to me why this whole street is a mess, but the outside of my pub is goddamn spotless?” Reyes asked, eyeing the oil stains on Jesse’s shirt and the sweat on his brow.

 

“Well, uh…”

 

Reyes shook his head and headed behind the bar, apparently deciding a drink was going to be necessary. “Sit down, Jesse. Before you fall down.”

 

Jesse took a seat on the stool across from Reyes, momentarily struck by how odd it was to be on this side of the bar. Reyes set a glass of whiskey in front of him before pouring one for himself.

 

“You come to check on the place?” Jesse asked.

 

Reyes nodded. “Apparently I didn’t need to worry.” When Jesse didn’t do anything but stare into his drink, vaguely red in the face, he added, “What the hell happened?”

 

Jesse told him everything. It took some time, and a couple refills, but he figured he owed his boss that much after turning his pub into a temporary infirmary. Reyes frowned at the retelling of how he and Hanzo had fought through the crowd to get to the place where Sheena was injured and then brought her to The Fox and Bear.

 

“Sorry for draggin’ all this here,” Jesse muttered, taking another sip of whiskey. The warmth that spread through him wasn’t nearly as comforting as it usually was. “I’ll pay you back for the drinks.”

 

Reyes gave him a long look, resting both hands on the bar and leaning slightly over it. Then he sighed and refilled Jesse’s glass before he could stop him.

 

“Keep your money, kid. Couple of drinks ain’t gonna sink me.”

 

Jesse stared at him, confused, feeling more lost than he had during this whole long, exhausting day.

 

“Why?”

 

He wasn’t really asking about the drinks. Reyes knew it too.

 

“You got more friends than you realize, Jesse. And believe me, I know a thing or two about running from your past, but I also know that's no way to live.” Reyes smiled, a small upturn of his lips that Jesse didn’t often get to see. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. Couldn’t have picked a better person to give the spare key to this place to.”

 

Reyes took off not long after that, reminding Jesse to lock up as he went, leaving him with more questions than he’d had before he arrived.


	4. Test on My Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you to the best beta ever, [Tsoleil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorqui), and to everyone on Shipwatch who keeps encouraging my silly punk au.
> 
> I want to say the next chapter won't also take a month, but...hey you guys know me by now. I've made up for it this time with special treats in the end notes.
> 
> The title song for this chapter is Test on My Patience by Dead Sara, which you can listen to [here](https://youtu.be/D7htTSP2ZYk).

_I'm in love, I'm in love_  
_No I'm not, oh my god_  
_I'm a liar, I can taste it_  
_You can say, you can say_  
_What you want, what you will_ _  
Say you don't mean it_

 

~~~

 

Hanzo stared down at the phone in his hand. The blinking cursor stared back at him, as if judging him for every single one of his mistakes. Which was no mean feat, considering how long that particular list was.

 

They rattled down the M4 in the old hovervan they used to cart their instruments and equipment to shows in, Hana having volunteered to navigate the first leg from London to Bristol. Between packing for the tour, making sure Sheena was fit to go with them, and attempting to prevent Sombra from doxxing several Humanity Now activists, Hanzo had barely had a moment to think about what he wanted to say to Jesse - much less actually text him.

 

But now there was nothing stopping him. Sheena was powered down in the seat behind him with Sombra in the seat opposite her, tapping away at her own phone in a manner that made Hanzo distinctly jealous of her ability to just... _type things._ Hana was using the steering wheel as an air guitar, and was consequently no help at all. The endless stretch of green and gray outside his window provided no respite from his musings.

 

He had no distractions. And still the words refused to come.

 

Hanzo sighed. A simple “thanks again” shouldn’t be this difficult. But then, that wasn’t really the only thing he wanted to say, was it?

 

He knew better than most how one eventful day could make you look at a situation in an entirely new light. Although in this case, that new light seemed to be “pining after a guy he’d seen all of twice.”

 

Eventually, somewhere outside of Swindon, he finally broke the silence between them.

 

 **Hanzo** ♫

_14:26_

I wanted to thank you again, for what you did.

 

Hanzo frowned. That sounded way too formal. He glanced up, searching for inspiration, and then followed it up with a picture of the greenery flashing by his window and another message.

 

 **Hanzo** ♫

_14:29_

I wish I had one of your drinks to make this trip more bearable.

 

The response came almost immediately, much to his surprise.

 

 **Jesse** ☕

_14:31_

wish i was there to make you one

how’s the trip goin

 

Hanzo snapped another picture, this time of Hana mid-guitar strum, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth open as she sang along to the song on the radio.

 

 **Jesse** ☕

_14:34_

that good huh

least she’s havin fun

wait is she driving???

 

 **Hanzo** ♫

_14:35_

The autopilot is on.

Although I doubt it being off would stop her.

 

 **Jesse** ☕

_14:36_

lol well tell her from me that i didn’t go to all that trouble being a hero for nothin

besides, i kinda like some of the people in that car

 

Hanzo glanced furtively at Hana and then out the window, hoping she was too wrapped up in her singing to notice how red his face had suddenly turned. He had absolutely no intention of telling Hana anything; the second she found out he was conversing with Jesse, she would be demanding a full recounting of every word they said to each other.

 

The lengths to which she’d gone to get details about their coffee date would likely haunt his nightmares for weeks.

 

 **Hanzo** ♫

_14:39_

Sombra?

 

 **Jesse** ☕

_14:41_

haha

sure, that’s who i meant ;)

 

Before Hanzo could reply with something equally sarcastic, like “I will let her know she has yet another admirer,” he got another message.

 

 **Jesse** ☕

_14:43_

been thinkin about you a lot the past few days

 

Hanzo wasn’t prepared for the way his heart skipped a beat at those words. It was ridiculous, really, how much Jesse could affect him even from so far away, how text on a screen could make him smile so widely, make him want to consider every single word he typed in response more carefully than any other text he’d ever sent.

 

He thought it was a feeling he could probably get addicted to, thought he should have texted him _sooner_ if this was what he had to look forward to. And wasn’t that just terrifying in its own right?

 

 **Hanzo** ♫

_14:45_

Have you?

I apologize for not texting you sooner. Last minute tour preparations.

 

Hanzo really needed to work on this whole flirting thing.

 

 **Jesse** ☕

_14:48_

figured as much

wanted to check if y’all were okay

 

The indicator showed Jesse typing for several seconds, before he finally sent another message.

 

 **Jesse** ☕

_14:50_

always chickened out at the last second lol

 

 **Hanzo** ♫

_14:51_

Why is that?

 

 **Jesse** ☕

_14:53_

thought you might’ve had second thoughts

bout the whole...gang thing

 

Hanzo frowned. He’d certainly thought about the conversation they’d shared in the back room of The Fox and Bear several times since that day, but not in the sense of changing his mind about Jesse. If anything, it had made him even more curious about the cowboy who’d dropped into his life so suddenly, and the similarities of their pasts.

 

He was no stranger to carrying that kind of old weight. Although he could hardly fault Jesse for being nervous about his reception to it.

 

 **Hanzo** ♫

_14:54_

I have not.

As I said, I am not without similar faults.

 

 **Jesse** ☕

_14:55_

well now, it’s hard to picture someone as gorgeous as you with faults of any kind ;)

 

“Ohmygod, are you talking to Jesse?”

 

He looked up to find Hana grinning at him, her fingers still formed around an invisible guitar neck. She looked entirely too gleeful. Hanzo sighed.

 

“What gave me away?”

 

“Uh, maybe the fact that you’re redder than a double-decker bus and smiling about as wide as one?”

 

Hanzo laughed as Sombra leaned forward to stick her head between their seats. He immediately moved his phone as far out of her reach as he could in the enclosed space of the van. She huffed and turned to Hana.

 

“Did you just compare Hanzo to a bus? Is this some weird Korean thing?”

 

“No, that is just Hana,” Hanzo said, meeting Hana’s glare with a smirk.

 

“Don’t go trying to turn this around on me. I know your game, Hanzo.” Hana pointed demandingly at his phone. “Now tell us what he’s saying!”

 

“You are so nosy,” Hanzo said, as Sombra unhooked her seatbelt so that she could peer over his shoulder. “Both of you.”

 

“Aw come on, you haven’t _actually_ dated someone in the entire time I’ve known you!” said Hana, putting on her best pouty face. “Of course I’m curious!”

 

“We are not dating.”

 

“Pretty sure getting coffee counts as a date,” Sheena says from behind him. He hadn’t even heard her power on. He glared over his shoulder at Sombra, who simply grinned. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d tripped Sheena’s circuits to wake her up when there was the slightest hint of potential gossip to be had. Although usually Sheena put up more of a fight.

 

“That does not mean we are _dating,”_ he muttered as he tapped out a reply.

 

 **Hanzo** ♫

_15:02_

I suppose that is another area in which we are similar.

 

“But you’d like to be,” Hana said, searching, not exactly a question. When Hanzo didn’t respond, she added quietly, “He’s a good guy.”

 

Hanzo stared down at his phone, where Jesse had just replied with a selfie. His face was mostly hidden by his hat and the hand that was tipping it down over his face, but Hanzo thought he could see a little bit of redness on his cheeks.

 

“Yes, I think he is.”

 

~~~

 

Their first few shows were a success, which Hanzo was happy about. It was gratifying to meet people from outside of London who were just as passionate about their music as he was, to see them in the crowd singing along. He even enjoyed the hour or so they usually hung around after the show, chatting at the bar with the people who’d come out to see them. It was an aspect of band life he hadn’t expected to like - had expected it to be too much like the inane mingling he’d been groomed for by the clan - and Hana and Sombra were always much better at that sort of thing anyway.

 

He supposed the difference was in the subject matter. And in the simple fact of having been able to decide for himself what he wanted to say.

 

But despite his excitement about the tour - and he would never admit this to the others for as long as he lived, because they would never let him forget it - he found himself more excited about the hours in between, when he got the chance to talk to Jesse.

 

They exchanged messages whenever Hanzo wasn’t on stage and Jesse wasn’t busy at the pub, and often called each other late at night, conversing with an easy familiarity that surprised him. Perhaps Jesse was just an easy person to talk to in general, but something in his gut told him that might not be the case. It hadn’t taken Hanzo very long to figure out that all of his flirting, while genuine, was mostly just a cover for all the things about himself he’d prefer to keep hidden away.

 

And Hanzo couldn’t help himself - every new tidbit of information he learned about _that_ Jesse just made him even more interested in the whole.

 

He sighed, pulling his jacket tighter around himself against the chill night wind. Late spring in Liverpool wasn’t so bad, unless you were sitting in the corner of a hotel roof at three in the morning, waiting for the enigmatic cowboy you were not-quite-dating to call you. It had become a habit over the first week of the tour. They’d finish a show, chat with fans, grab a bite to eat, and then drag themselves back to the hotel, exhausted but exhilarated. And then, when Jesse texted him to let him know he was almost home, he’d find a way up onto the roof, where he could talk without anyone overhearing.

 

Hanzo could handle a little bit of cold if it meant hearing Jesse’s voice.

 

The opening chords of Hana’s K-Pop song had barely finished ringing out before he answered the phone.

 

“Hello, Jesse.”

 

“Hey there, darlin’.” Jesse sounded tired. But of course, he knew from experience how busy a Saturday night at The Fox and Bear could be. “How was the show?”

 

“It went well. None of the technical issues we had in Birmingham, thankfully. Although a very drunk man tried to flirt with Sombra at the bar afterwards.”

 

Jesse’s low, rumbling chuckle was just as pleasing over the phone as it was in person. “Can’t imagine that turned out too great for him.”

 

“Sheena was fuming. Literally.”

 

“That girl needs to get a move on, if you ask me. Hell, I’ve only met ‘em twice but I can tell those two’ve been flirtin’ around each other for ages.”

 

Hanzo grinned. “And you are not a proponent of excessive flirting?”

 

“You sassin’ me, sugar?”

 

“What exactly are you going to do about it if I am?” Hanzo said teasingly.

 

There was a pause on Jesse’s end before he said, “Hell. Probably shouldn’t tell you how much I like it when you do.”

 

Hanzo bit his lip, but that didn’t stop the smile that broke out across his face.

 

“Probably not. I will try not to use it against you too much.”

 

Jesse laughed, loud and long, but before he could say anything else, he was interrupted by a loud banging sound.

 

“Ah, hold on a sec, got someone at the door.”

 

“At this time of night?” Hanzo said, frowning.

 

“Probably one of Lúcio’s,” Jesse said distractedly.

 

“The...DJ?”

 

Receiving no reply, Hanzo could only listen in confusion to the sound of a door creaking open, followed by a quiet voice speaking rapid-fire in a language he didn’t understand. Portuguese, he assumed, if the internationally famous freedom fighter was somehow involved. His confusion only grew when Jesse responded in kind, although his speech was slower, more stilted, the way someone talked when they didn’t have a very good grasp on the language.

 

There was a jingle of keys and another exchange of words that ended with Jesse saying a quiet _“Boa noite”_ before the door closed again.

 

“Sorry ‘bout that, darlin’,” Jesse said, switching smoothly back to English as if the whole thing hadn’t happened.

 

“I am beginning to think you have a serious weakness for musicians.”

 

“Only the talented ones.” Hanzo rolled his eyes as Jesse added, “You can’t see it, but I’m winkin’ at you too.”

 

“I assumed so.”

 

“S’pose you wanna know what that was all about, huh?”

 

“If you would like to tell me, yes. I will admit to being very curious about your knowledge of Portuguese.”

 

Jesse laughed. “Ain’t you always curious, _meu docinho?”_ Hanzo had no idea what that meant, but the way Jesse said it, sweetly and with deliberation so that he didn’t get the pronunciation wrong, had Hanzo blushing. “Lúcio owns the flat next to mine, stays there whenever he’s in London doin’ a show. Nothin’ fancy, since he ain’t here most of the year. The rest of the time he loans it out to people who need a place to crash for a night or two. People havin’ a rough time, you know?”

 

Hanzo didn’t know much about Lúcio except what he’d heard. His particular brand of music was, unsurprisingly, not one he was familiar with. But he knew the man had a reputation for humanitarianism, and so the most surprising part of Jesse’s story was actually his involvement in it.

 

“He’s a great kid,” Jesse continued. “Real humble. Always says he feels bad for leavin’ his spare key with me, all the people comin’ and goin’. Keeps tryin’ to pay me too, and he’s gettin’ more creative about it. Last time he was here, he stuck a bunch of cash in an envelope and slid it so far under my door that I didn't find it under my couch until a month and a half later.” Jesse laughed fondly. “Got his manager's address though. Mailed it to him with a note that said ‘Better luck next time.’”

 

Hanzo chuckled, but he couldn't help but think that there was something a little off about his story. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

 

“It sounds like he is a good friend of yours,” he said.

 

Jesse let out a noncommittal hum. “Well, s’pose as much as I got ‘em here. Usually not a good idea for me to be friends with people I might have to say goodbye to any minute.”

 

And that was it, Hanzo thought, the little piece that didn't quite fit. It wasn't the first time Jesse had made some vague reference to his past and how it meant his future was uncertain, as if he expected to have to pick up and leave London at any moment when his old life inevitably caught up. And Hanzo understood that feeling, he really did; making peace with that kind of thing didn’t come easily.

 

But it was clear, at least to Hanzo, that despite all of Jesse’s best efforts to not settle down, he’d been doing just that all along. With his coworkers at the pub, with the patrons there, and even with a world-famous musician who trusted him enough to leave him a spare key to a place he likely only saw once a year.

 

Hanzo stretched his legs out on the cold roof, shivering as the air only seemed to get colder. He’d hardly noticed it while listening to Jesse talk.

 

“Are you saying I am not your friend, then?” he asked, not willing to call Jesse out on it at the moment, but also not willing to let the comment slide.

 

There was silence on Jesse’s end, and then he snorted. “Well, that wasn’t what I meant. But I ain’t exactly been thinkin’ of you in a _friendly_ sorta way, either.”

 

“I am told that all good relationships are built on a foundation of friendship.”

 

“And what self-help book didya pull that one out of?”

 

A sad smile that Jesse couldn’t see crossed Hanzo’s face. “It was something my brother would say whenever we argued about his choice of diversions. Although his phrasing was more...coarse.”

 

Jesse hummed, and Hanzo heard the scrape of wood-on-wood, as if he was sitting back in a chair. “S’pose he was right. But then, I got the impression you can handle yourself just fine. Friends or not.”

 

Hanzo chuckled. “I can. But that is not the only thing I would like to _handle.”_

 

He had his head in his hands almost as soon as he finished speaking.

 

“Oh, honey, that one was awful,” Jesse said through a fit of laughter.

 

“It was,” he said, sighing. “Truly. But...not entirely false.”

 

Jesse didn’t respond for a long moment. Then he said, tentatively, “I got a confession to make.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah. When we went to get coffee? If Hana hadn’t called you, I was all set to invite you back to my place.”

 

“How scandalous.”

 

Jesse laughed. “What’d I say about that sass?”

 

“That you enjoy it,” Hanzo said with a smile.

 

“Shoulda kept my damn mouth shut. Anyway, I was wonderin’ if you’da said yes. If I’d gotten the chance to ask.”

 

Hanzo grinned even as he felt his face heat up, glad for how very alone he was on this roof. “Without hesitation.”

 

“Heh, really? I mean--” Jesse cleared his throat. Hanzo wondered if his face was equally as red. The thought made him grin even wider. “Shucks, darlin’. Then I’m askin’ you now: You wanna come over to my place when y’all get back from your tour?”

 

“And what if my answer has changed since that day?”

 

“Uh, well, I mean...that’d be alright, I understand--”

 

Hanzo couldn’t help the burst of laughter that spilled out of him. “Jesse. I would love to.”

 

“...You’re _evil,_ sugar. Downright evil.”

 

“I apologize. But of course I would never turn down a lunch that was owed to me.”

 

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? How about we make it a dinner instead then? Call it interest earned.”

 

“I will look forward to it,” Hanzo said, the last word morphing into a yawn. He had no idea how long he’d been up here talking to Jesse, but it must have been quite a while.

 

“Get some rest, Hanzo. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” There was an unmistakable fondness in Jesse’s voice that made his heart skip a beat. He had a feeling that sleep would be a long time coming, with the promise of another date to leave him so eager for the end of the tour.

 

“You too, Jesse. Good night.”

 

~~~

 

Hanzo came to regret telling the band about these plans a few nights later, when they sat in a loose circle in their hotel room in Edinburgh rehearsing for their gig that night.

 

“You’ve gotten attached so quickly,” Sombra said, idly tuning her guitar and glancing up to gauge Hanzo’s reaction.

 

Hanzo scoffed. “I am not attached.”

 

“No one has any right to be _that_ excited about something at four in the morning,” Hana grumbled.

 

“It is not my fault you stayed up playing video games and were still awake when I came back.”

 

He was entirely certain that Hana said something in response to this, but he didn’t hear what it was. His phone pinged in the same moment, and he picked it up immediately. It turned out to be the manager of the club they were playing at asking if they needed anything in particular for that night, and Hanzo sighed, disappointed, before tapping out a response before looking up to find everyone else in the room staring at him.

 

“That was the manager--”

 

“You’re pining _so hard,_ Hanzo,” Hana said, hiding a smile behind her hand.

 

Hanzo frowned. “I am not pining.”

 

_“Oh, pobrecito.”_

 

“I am _not._ Pining is definitely not punk.”

 

“Excuse you, pining is totally punk.” Hanzo just stared at her. Even Sheena tilted her head in Hana’s direction, confused. “Okay, listen. Pining is just admitting to to yourself that there’s someone out there who’s important to you, right?”

 

Hanzo had nothing to say to that. Sombra glanced in Sheena’s direction before turning her gaze down to her guitar once more.

 

“That’s what I thought,” Hana said. “And you know what’s _not_ punk? Pretending you’re not into the cowboy because you think it’s bad for your image.”

 

Sheena twirled a drumstick idly through her fingers, staring intently at Hana as if that was the only safe place for her eyes to be. There was a distinct tension in the room that Hanzo didn’t think was entirely directed at him.

 

“In that case...I suppose I am pining.”

 

Sombra snorted, breaking the strange mood with a discordant strum of her guitar.

 

“Well, if you can keep your hands off your phone for two seconds, we still have four songs to go through,” she said.

 

_“It was the manager--”_

 

“Sure it was,” Sheena said, tapping out a few beats on her practice drum pads.

 

Hanzo huffed, knowing when he’d encountered a battle not worth fighting. They would need all their energy for the show tonight.

 

And if he peeked at his phone more than once during the rest of their rehearsal, then the other three just didn’t have to know about it.

 

~~~

 

By the time Hanzo made it back to his flat in London after dropping the rest of the band off, all he could do was collapse, exhausted, into his bed. He didn’t plan on waking up until after noon the following day.

 

When he finally did drag himself out of bed, he found a message from Jesse waiting for him.

 

 **Jesse** ☕♥

_12:09_

cant wait to see you tonight

dont worry bout dressin up

 

Hanzo smiled as he tapped out a reply, wondering where Jesse planned to take him. He hadn’t volunteered the information and Hanzo hadn’t asked, allowing himself be surprised for once.

 

He had a suspicion that it would be an Italian place, though. Jesse had oh-so-casually asked him for his opinions on pasta when they’d talked two nights ago, after their last show in Cambridge.

 

Hanzo spent the intervening time unpacking his things from the tour, sorting through all the emails he’d neglected for the past two weeks, and pretending he wasn’t incredibly anxious about that night. And really, he didn’t have much of a reason to be - he’d been looking forward to this from the moment Jesse had asked him. But while he’d been more than prepared for a one-off night of fun when they’d first met, the thought of it _now,_ after he’d gotten to know Jesse, held a far greater implication.

 

There was more on the line now.

 

But despite the way he paced around his flat, watching the minutes tick by with little to distract himself, he never once thought about backing out. More than anything else, Hanzo was _determined._

 

One kiss in an alley hadn’t been nearly enough to satisfy him.

 

It was a relief to finally leave his flat and head for the bus stop down the street, thankful to be above ground and avoiding the Tube. Jesse had given him very precise directions to his apartment building, and he had no problem finding it. He checked his phone just before heading inside and realized that he’d arrived a bit early in his eagerness. Something told him Jesse wouldn’t mind overly much.

 

His knock on the door of Jesse’s flat was followed by a few muffled curses and a loud _bang._ Hanzo raised an eyebrow at the closed door.

 

When it was flung open with a cheerful “Howdy, darlin’!”, Hanzo was met with the sight of Jesse wearing an apron with a motif of cartoon cacti. He was holding a wooden spoon that looked to be about two seconds from dripping some kind of red sauce onto his hardwood floors.

 

And until that very moment, Hanzo hadn’t even considered the idea that Jesse might be going to the trouble of _cooking_ him dinner instead of taking him out somewhere. He was momentarily stunned. None of his past...conquests had ever bothered with more than a morning-after coffee, and Hanzo had never accepted one.

 

He imagined this might be what being flung onto an entirely different plane of existence felt like.

 

When Hanzo finally spoke, his voice was too quiet to his own ears. “You are...making dinner?”

 

Jesse scratched the back of his neck with the hand not holding the messy spoon, going a little red in the face. “Well...yeah. I thought you might like to stay in after bein’ on the road for so long.”

 

Hanzo just stared at him, too touched to come up with an appropriate reply.

 

“But uh...if you’d rather go out somewhere, I don’t mind. Whatever you--”

 

His brain finally came up with an appropriate reply in the form of grabbing Jesse by his incredibly silly apron and pulling him in for a deep kiss, right there in the doorway. Jesse made a muffled noise of surprise before sinking into the kiss, wrapping one arm around Hanzo’s waist to pull him in closer.

 

When they finally parted, Hanzo saw that Jesse had been keeping his other arm outstretched, so that none of the sauce would drip on him. It was such a small thing, but it made him smile uncontrollably.

 

“No,” he said, meeting Jesse’s astonished stare, “this is perfect.”

 

“Yeah, it is…” Jesse murmured, his gaze falling to Hanzo’s lips before snapping back up to his eyes. “I mean, uh, well--”

 

Hanzo snickered. Jesse shook his head, laughing.

 

“Oh, just come on inside, why don’tcha? If the sauce is burnt, I’m blamin’ you.”

 

Jesse didn’t comment on the overnight bag slung over Hanzo’s shoulder. But he did give him a quick tour of his flat after checking on their dinner, telling him that he was welcome to leave it in Jesse’s bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing Omaano did such a beautiful drawing of punk Hanzo that I've actually died and ascended to a higher plane, and am now updating this fic from heaven. You can see it [here](http://omaano.tumblr.com/post/158373951343/you-may-not-know-it-yet-but-you-too-need)!
> 
> I also have a playlist for this fic! If anyone's curious about my writing inspiration, you can listen to it on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/fearlessfreefall/playlist/3DRnaJCNawjNdqND8RjQx2) or [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLdf0EPf_zWTVBGeGIHfgpJDEoXOXWU4Qf).

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to freak out about McHanzo with me, you can find me on tumblr [here](http://malevolentmango.tumblr.com).


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